


The Motorbike

by forthewidowsinparadise



Category: Jongens | Boys (2014)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthewidowsinparadise/pseuds/forthewidowsinparadise
Summary: It couldn't have been that easy. Sieger couldn't have just picked Marc up without a word so they could ride off into the sunset like a couple of modern Dutch princes. Marc wouldn't have let him back in so easily.So whatdidhappen after Sieger stole Eddy's bike?





	The Motorbike

Eddy’s new motorbike didn’t look like a time machine. Not like the ones from films and on paper, what with their flashes of psychedelia and motley gadgets, complex with the ornaments of fiction. It was new, but not unique—not of dreams—until Sieger stole it from the very pavement it was gifted. It was then, after the bump of the curb, that sense of time was lost and fiction faced disproval. Time travel showed itself to already exist, as Sieger seemed to be riding neck-and-neck with light.

But it wasn’t the bike that did it. It was the idea of an ice cream shop appearing before Sieger had worked out what to say. The suddenness of the plight, and the importance of the reaction was daunting. He knew what he wanted, and he was scared. Scared of the truth, scared of opening up, scared of Marc even. Of everything he had to face to make himself feel alright again.

It was dread that made everything go too fast.

And he would have liked to drive on an endless road, wind dipping in and out of his ear canals forever, but he felt his minutes were reduced to seconds just to tease him. Too soon he was leaning the motorbike against Marc’s fence, hesitating at the entrance. There were several customers at the shop, but Sieger couldn’t be bothered to see. He only watched as he went unnoticed by Marc—gorgeous, curly-haired Marc, who was playing distraction while wiping sticky dairy off of tables—and Sieger’s arteries clogged his windpipe like a cancer. He took an astronaut-slow step, wondering if he should call his name, when he was met with the unassuming face of Neeltje staring up at him.

“Marc didn’t say you were coming over.” Not spiteful, but straight, not even a hello; she knew there was tension. If a seven-year-old could feel the problem’s aura, Sieger knew he had to get past this fence. 

He saw Marc look up at him, but look down before the eye contact became real. “I just wanted to see if he wanted to go swimming tonight.” Sieger improvised lyrics to his drumbeat heart. “And I had a question about the relay too. Can you get him for me?”

Sieger waited—watched Neeltje’s face—and worried about why she stalled. Then she smiled with cute righteousness. “What's the magic word?” She sing-songed.

Despite the war of Sieger’s innards, a puff of laughter came out of hiding. “ _Please,_ Neeltje.” He drawled, unable to resist ruffling her sweet blonde waves. It was his last hint of calm before Marc’s sleeve was tugged.

The boy he felt too much for—the boy he hurt—began to walk towards him. He walked slowly and spitefully; Sieger’s heart moved like a tongue muscle. Uncontrollable and unstoppable. 

When Marc was there, the abundance of hard confessions Sieger had to give were caught in his throat. Marc’s brown eyes were mute with a cold knowing: Sieger wouldn't dare speak of what was between them. He bitterly took charge of the silence. “Hi.” And it was like they weren't once lovers.

“Hi.” Sieger croaked, uncomfortable with the eye contact, but knowing he’d seem worse if he looked away. “Can…can we talk?”

It was too late for beating around the bush, at least for Marc. “About how _sorry_ you are?” He hissed. 

_Good luck with your charade,_ Sieger heard again in Marc’s sourness and crossed arms. His intonation crept with toxicity—hurt venom, defence—and this is why Sieger had become so depressed lately. He didn't like beating himself up for ruining what they had, let alone hurting Marc in the process.

It was then that dread turned to desperation. “I was scared, okay.” He admitted; croaking words that seemed to crawl under Marc’s taut face. His eyes widened. 

Though only for a moment. Recovering after the shock of the honesty, Marc went to be snide—“Scared of what?”—but it could only come out as curious.

Sieger choked a little, but it was forcing out of him little by little. “Of this whole thing.” He gestured to himself, then to Marc, grappling for mutual understanding.

“Of us?” Marc asked.

“Well, sort of.” Sieger sighed. “Actually yes. That’s exactly it. This…this is so new to me, it’s so much to take in. I don't know…I didn't know how to deal with it.”

Marc’s eyebrows drop again. “You seemed to know how to deal with _Jessica_ though.” He hissed. “Unless it’s something else. Something to do with me.”

Sieger sighed: he didn't want to say it. “It’s not you. Not totally.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He didn't want to say the word. “It’s just that…”

“You…” Marc tried to seem tough about it, but Sieger saw him choking up. “You can tell me if you don't like me like that.” He growled. “I'd rather that than you put me through all this bullshit.”

It was the sight of tears in Marc’s eyes—the path this conversation was quickly going down—that made Sieger burst into truth. “Marc.” His voice was hard-soft, his eye contact plain solid. “The problem isn’t that I don’t like you. It’s that I do. I like you a lot, and it intimidates me.”

“What do you—”

“I grew up without a mother,” Sieger interrupted. “And with two men who hang all these posters of half-naked women in the garage like it's the...epitome of manliness. When my dad taught me about sex, the idea of me being with a man wasn’t even brought up. It was always _when you meet a nice girl_ or _make sure you always treat your woman with respect._ I don’t know how he actually feels about it all but my brother…he calls me that--" He didn't want to say it in front of Marc, just in case, "--that gay slur sometimes. It scares me because, since I met you, the first thing I think is…what would he say if he knew he was right?”

Sieger’s face was hot from honesty, and he watched Marc for some sort of reaction. Some glimmer of surprise, like before, but there was none of that. Marc’s arms stayed crossed protectively over his chest, but most of his prior intensity had come from his eyes, and he seemed to have lost the energy for eye contact. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

“I…” He sighed through his nose, watching the ground as he spoke. “I can’t say I don’t understand that. I do. I mean, I’m the only guy in my house and my mom always kind of thought I was gay so like, I haven’t been in your exact place but still, I get it.” 

A breath of relief was about to come from Sieger’s mouth when Marc looked at him again and, where Sieger thought he’d see rose petals, there was still a tangled bramble of thorns. “But you can’t use it as an excuse, Sieger.” He continued sourly, water and fire in his eyes. “Regardless of whether you’re in the closet, or don’t know whether your family will be accepting or not, you can’t just _use_ me like this. This whole time, not once did I say I minded laying low until you figure shit out. I _accommodated_ you—saying we could hang out at my place or the lake where no one would see us—because I cared about you and didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can do that, easily. But what I _can’t_ do is watch you run around with this fake girlfriend, lying to her and being all gooey with her in public just to uphold this fucking _disguise_ while I’m right _there._ ” His voice was raised and patrons were beginning to turn their heads, so he took a breath to contain himself. His voice shook, and the quieter it was, the more unsettled Sieger felt. “I want to be with you. I do.” He said. “And I think you want to be with me too, but I—”

“I do. I want to be with you so bad.”

Marc ignored him. “I can’t do it, Sieger.” It sounds like a conclusion. “Not like this. Not with you lying to me, and not being able to be with _just_ me, whether your relationship with her is real or not. I’m sorr—”

Sieger felt a little bad for continuing to interrupt Marc, but he couldn’t let it end like this. “I’ll do it.”

Drained, Marc rubbed his eyes. “Do _what,_ Sieger?”

“Be with only you.” Sieger replied. “I only _want_ to be with you, Marc. Please, I’ll break up with Jessica tonight. Say there’s someone else which, I mean, isn’t a lie.”

“For once.” Marc mumbled. He kicked at pebbles with his shoe until, suddenly, Sieger’s hands were on his face. Gentle and tender. “Wh-what are you doing? There are people everywhere.” But Sieger didn't move. He brushed his thumb along Marc's freckles, relishing the increasing warmth of his skin against the his palms.

“I don’t care.” He said, though his arms were shaking and his heart was beating wildly. Their affection wasn’t even that noticeable, but after months of pretending to be nothing more than teammates, it was the first word of a statement.

Finally, Marc softened a little. “Okay.”

“I want to try again—to do this right. Will you give me a chance?”

In that moment, they didn’t have to kiss. They were near it—just a breath of space between them—but the look they shared was of the same sentiment. If not more potent. A rough haze still outlined Marc’s eyes but, with a soft smile, his center began to glow warm again. 

“Show me you mean it.” Marc says, and it isn’t an ultimatum, or even necessarily a challenge. It’s an open door, and unlike the first time it had opened to him—over a log, in a warm lake—Sieger refuses to toe the threshold, waiting for Marc to pull him in or give him the confidence to follow.

“I stole Eddy’s motorbike.” He said, entering all by himself and closing the door softly behind him. “We can drive to the lake. Go swimming.”

Marc lets out a soft laugh. “Alright.”

Kicking the bike to life, Sieger felt Marc’s arms wrapped around him, and time no longer went at a breakneck speed. Instead, it slowed to something endless and special. With the reminiscent feeling of just the two of them on a bike—blissful with the speed, and with the wind in their faces—he knew everything would be okay between them. That didn’t mean he had to tell his family about Marc tomorrow, but with the chance he’d been given he would show Marc that, regardless of his limitations, he wouldn’t give up what they have for anything. It was up to him to make sure of it.

It was up to him to be happy and, for the first time in a long time, he was going to let it happen.


End file.
